


Need Me

by purple_bookcover



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Anal Sex, Bodyguard, Light breathplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Pro Gamer Kozume Kenma, kind of a plot. not much, using a tie as a sex accessory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Pro gamer Kenma has his share of fans, but he prefers taking strangers to the bedroom. Too bad this particular stranger (Kuroo) is dead set on sticking around and proving Kenma needs him. And, more important,wantshim.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 206
Collections: Recommended KuroKen Fics





	Need Me

**Author's Note:**

> For nekoma week! The prompt was "power" and I enjoyed the shifting power dynamic between them in this fic.
> 
> They bone twice!

“What do you want?”

Kenma grips the man beneath him by the chin, searching for those bright, feline eyes through the dark of his bedroom. “I want you to stop talking and fuck me.”

The man – Kado? Koyo? Kuroo? – complies, flipping them both over and starting to kiss down Kenma’s naked torso, sloppy and wet, his mouth making little popping noises as he rushes lower. 

Kuroo, Kenma thinks. It’s definitely Kuroo. He’s sure because it’s a ridiculous name to match the guy’s ridiculous hair and ridiculous cocky smile and ridiculous swagger thinking he could just approach Kenma after the tournament and take him home. 

He was right, but that’s beside the point.

Does he even realize who he’s in bed with right now? Kenma deeply suspects not or this wouldn’t be happening. 

And that’s just how Kenma wants it.

He rolls his pelvis as Kuroo licks at the soft space beside his hip. Kuroo presses Kenma down, holding him in place as he angles Kenma’s cock into his mouth. 

Kenma gasps. This guy works fast. His lips are tight around Kenma as he bobs up and down. He’s using his tongue as well, licking along Kenma, swirling around the tip, pressing hot and close every time Kenma moans and gives away that he’s found a sensitive spot. 

Kenma grabs him by that stupid, spiky hair, shoves him down so deep he gags. 

Kuroo takes it, sucking and licking while Kenma grasps his hair. Finally, Kenma lets him come back up. He’s gasping and grinning, eyes gleaming bright. 

“Fuck, you’re so--”

Kenma releases his hair to press a finger to his lips. He shakes his head and Kuroo smirks, but stops talking. 

Kenma rolls toward the stand beside his bed and digs through the drawer. He can feel Kuroo’s gaze sharpen as Kenma pops the cap on the lube and squirts some into his hand. Kenma gets on all fours, his ass toward Kuroo. Kenma starts working his own slick fingers around his hole. 

Apparently, Kuroo enjoys the show. He emits a whimpering moan muted by clenched teeth. Kenma doesn’t really need to go this slowly with the prep, but it’s delicious listening to Kuroo grumble as he slowly swirls around his hole and dives a finger inside. 

Kuroo rubs a hand over Kenma’s ass, nails scratching along a smooth cheek. Kenma smiles to himself. Kuroo’s fingers are faintly trembling, the eagerness obvious in his every touch. 

Kenma pulls his fingers out of himself. “Fine,” he sighs. 

There’s a mad shuffle behind Kenma. Lube, condom, whatever the guy is doing back there it’s taking too long. Kenma nearly complains, then something hard rubs along his ass, pressing at his hole. He moans in anticipation. The prep was at least half just a show, but it also made Kenma more eager than he expected when this strange affair began. 

Kuroo doesn’t make him wait long. He could have teased, but Kenma suspects they’re both too wound up now to take things slow anymore. 

Despite his readiness, the head of Kuroo’s cock struggles against Kenma. The moment it pushes inside, they both moan, voices winding together in a single trembling note. 

Kuroo grasps Kenma’s hips and squeezes in deeper. Kenma breathes around the fullness, the sudden, bright sensation of having something pressing against his walls. Sharpness clashes against the sizzle of nerves set alight. Quickly, Kenma relaxes and only the burn remains, the sweet, consuming flush of his whole body welling with heat. 

Kuroo doesn’t linger. He drags back, reigniting all those sparking nerves, only to shove back in. He gives Kenma no reprieve, building speed rapidly, almost desperately. It is a little too fast but Kenma doesn’t care. He wants it, wants the rush, the frenetic energy, the little bite that comes along with sloppy, hungry thrusts. 

Kuroo runs a hand along the curve of Kenma’s back and pushes him down. Kenma goes willingly, his face against the mattress while his ass stays high. 

Here, he can grip at the sheets, squeeze his eyes shut, release every noise bubbling up through his chest into the muffling bedspread. 

Kuroo grips Kenma’s hips and plunges back in. The whole bed jerks with every beat of Kuroo’s pelvis. All Kenma can do is hold on and whine into the sheets. He might be drooling as Kuroo pummels him, but he neither knows nor cares; he’s helpless to do anything but endure the sweet fire licking its way up his body. 

Kuroo must shift, or perhaps Kenma tilts his own hips in some way he’s not fully conscious of. Whatever the cause, the angle makes Kuroo’s cock hit just right, pounding over his prostrate, sending bursts of color flaring behind his eyes. 

Kenma nearly shouts into the bedspread, not daring to change his position. Kuroo either understands or gets lucky because he keeps doing it, keeps hitting that spot inside Kenma that makes the whole world feel like it’s molten and dripping. 

Then Kuroo does shift, just enough to get his hand on Kenma’s cock, and Kenma yelps. The sensation is too much. It’s a flash of lightning through his body – and the thunder isn’t far behind. 

He comes over Kuroo’s hand, lunging into it, clenching everything he can clench, crying against the sheets from the delirious pleasure of it. 

Kuroo thrusts into him a few more times before grunting, fingers going rigid, digging into his skin. Kenma barely even notices him pull out. He melts immediately to the mattress, face down and limbs limp, heedless of the wet spot under him. Everything feels like its humming, an echo like when a train passes and the ground trembles in sympathy a mile away. He could fall asleep like this, and he very well may, but then fingers skim down his back and a weight shifts the mattress. 

Kuroo slips to his side, kissing at Kenma’s shoulder, tracing his fingers up and down Kenma’s spine. 

Kenma nearly groans – and not from pleasure this time. 

“That was so incredible,” Kuroo says, peppering Kenma’s shoulders with more kisses. 

“Mmm.” 

“Next time, you can fuck me, if you want.”

“There is no next time,” Kenma says.

“Why not?” Kuroo says. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

Kenma sighs, turning over to face Kuroo. “That’s why there won’t be a next time.”

“I’m … confused.”

He pats at Kuroo’s chest. Good god, the guy is toned. He didn’t really get a chance to notice earlier. It doesn’t matter. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I don’t do next times.” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “OK, big shot. Right. I forgot. You’re famous or something?”

“In the right circles.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of you,” Kuroo says. 

“I know,” Kenma says. “That’s why you’re here tonight.” 

“But you’re still gonna kick me out, aren’t you?” 

Kenma almost feels bad as he nods. Almost. 

Kuroo huffs a sigh. “Fine. I get it.” He rolls off the bed to start digging around for his clothing. 

Kuroo pauses with only his jeans on. “This is the part where you stop me.” 

Kenma shrugs. “I’m not going to stop you. Thanks for the fuck, but in my line of work, I’m better off alone.” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes again. “Right. Famous guy. Sure.” He finishes getting dressed then heads for the bedroom door, hesitating in the frame. He almost looks like he’s going to say something, but then he just shakes his head and leaves.

Kenma rolls back into his covers and sheets. It’s nice to be alone again. That guy was dangerously close to being clingy. 

Still, his scent lingering in the sheets isn’t exactly unpleasant...

#

Kenma clicks. He barely even aims, but he knows he hit his mark from the message that flashes on his screen and the mixture of cheers and groans that comes from the crowd. 

He keeps his expression carefully neutral as the announcers scream about the headshot. He’s up 2-1 and no one is surprised, least of all Kenma himself. This match was over before it began, but it doesn’t hurt to put on a bit of a show for the audience. 

In truth, he shouldn’t have even dropped the one round he managed to lose. His opponent is far less experienced than him, a promising newbie, but nowhere near Kenma in terms of raw reflexes and technical skill. 

And still he got a clear shot on Kenma in the second round, sniping him from atop a building. It was a stupid mistake and the crowd was rightfully surprised. It did add to the drama of a match that everyone had expected to be a blowout, though. 

Kenma gives himself a shake during the loading screen for the final round – what should be the final round, unless Kenma is so off his game he drops another match. That shouldn’t happen, can’t happen. He’s never distracted during pro games. That’s what he’s built his whole reputation and gaming persona around as CatEye – quick, silent and exceptionally deadly. 

And sometimes a little too interested in playing with his food. 

He does so now, letting his opponent run right past his hidden location. The crowd’s gasp nearly gives him away, noise canceling headphones or not, but Kenma is still quicker on the draw and he takes out the other player before the guy even manages to get a shot off. 

Kenma exhales with relief. 3-1. He wins, but that was way closer than it ever should have been. He knows why, even as he unplugs his hardware and starts to pack it up in his bag, even as he waves at the audience and offers a little bow to the fans. He especially knows it as some part of him scans that crowd, searching for ridiculous black hair and feline eyes. 

He heads off the stage in a daze, arguing with himself, chiding himself for searching for Kuroo among the onlookers. Why would he come to a match like this? He doesn’t even like pro gaming. That’s why he didn’t recognize Kenma. That’s why they hooked up in the first fucking place. And Kenma had unceremoniously kicked him out right after, making it abundantly clear there would be no second time. So looking for him now is not just stupid, it’s also humilia--

A scream knocks him out of his thoughts. He blinks in time to see a man rushing at him, something brandished in his hand, but not in time to do anything about it but freeze up and gape. 

Time slows. Kenma reels backward, knowing he doesn’t have time to get away. All the cat-like reflexes that serve him during matches don’t mean shit in the real world, and the man barreling at him with murder in his eyes is very fucking real. 

That man is steps away now. Kenma can finally make out the object he holds. A knife. An actual god damn knife. Kenma is going to die here. 

He manages another stuttering step back, but the world has filled with molasses. He knows this is as far as he’ll get before the knife reaches him. Kenma braces, wondering if it’ll hurt, what dying will be like--

Then a streak of black rushes before him.

He barely sees it before it slams into the attacker. Kenma gasps as time returns. There are two bodies grappling on the floor mere feet away, but the rest of the arena is as stunned as Kenma. It’s quiet, freakishly quiet, so quiet Kenma can hear the grunts of the men wrestling on the ground.

The one in black finally pins the attacker to the floor, pressing his wrists above his head so the knife is worthless. 

It’s Kuroo. 

It’s Kuroo sitting on the attacker, forcing him down, holding him in place as the arena’s security sweeps in and drags the attacker away. 

Kuroo brushes himself off as he stands. When he faces Kenma, a cocky grin twists his mouth, the same grin Kenma saw that night they slept together. 

Kenma doesn’t get to ask how or why or what the fuck is going on. Kuroo strides up to him, takes him by the arm and pulls him off the stage.

Even when they reach back stage Kenma doesn’t get to voice his confusion. The arena’s staff rushes in, asking if he’s OK and what happened. Kenma is numb. The questions wash over him. He’s grateful for Kuroo still holding his arm; it keeps him standing and steady. 

“He’s fine,” Kuroo says. “A little shaken up, but not injured.”

“And who the hell are you?” a woman asks. 

“His bodyguard.” 

No one questions that title. They all seem too relieved to grill Kuroo on his qualifications. 

Kuroo pulls Kenma along, away from the voices and the eyes and the concern. Kenma doesn’t realize how badly he needs to get away until they’re in the quiet of a dressing room. Kuroo sits Kenma down on a couch, then closes the dressing room door.

The quiet rings in Kenma’s ears. He’s still trying to catch his breath, trying to sort out what the hell just happened. It was all so fast, such a blur. 

Kuroo approaches, but he doesn’t sit beside Kenma. Instead, he kneels on the floor before him, setting his hands on Kenma’s knees. It’s only now that Kenma realizes Kuroo is wearing a suit, clean and pressed, as well as a slim red tie. No wonder no one questioned him. 

“What are you doing here?” Kenma says, breathless.

Kuroo laughs. “You almost died and that’s your first question?”

Kenma just nods.

“To be honest,” Kuroo says, “I just wanted to see you again.”

“Why the suit?” 

“Came from work. I was a little late. Had to stand off to the side. Saw that guy creeping up and just … happened to be in the right place at the right time, I guess.”

Kenma shakes his head, struggling to take all this in. 

Kuroo reaches up, cupping Kenma’s face. His hand is warm, solid. Kenma should recoil from the touch, but he doesn’t. 

“Hey,” Kuroo says, “are you OK? You look really pale.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Still stuck on that?” Kuroo is grinning. “If you want the truth, I had a hell of a time trying to look you up. I don’t know shit about gaming. Why don’t you just use your real name?” 

Kenma just shrugs. 

Kuroo withdraws his hand. He lingers for a moment at Kenma’s knees before he stands. 

Kenma catches his wrist. “I’m glad you were here.” 

Kuroo looks shocked for a moment, mouth agape, then that, too, melts into a smile. “I’m glad I was here too. Why did that guy want to kill you?”

“I have no idea,” Kenma says. “Just a … grudge or something. The internet is weird.” 

“Heh, yeah, I guess so. You should be more careful.”

“There’s not that much I can do about it.” 

Kuroo shrugs. “You could always...”

The door bursts open then, the arena’s security flooding in. 

“Who is this man? He isn’t a security guard. How did he get in here?” 

The questions just keep coming, too fast for Kenma to make much sense of. He shouts over the din: “He’s with me.” 

The room goes silent.

“He’s with me,” Kenma repeats.

“He is?” the security says.

“I am?” Kuroo echoes.

Kenma looks up. He’s still holding Kuroo’s wrist. He tightens his grip. 

“Yes,” he says. “He’s my … personal bodyguard.”

#

The stage floods with light. Confetti bursts out of canons in the ceiling, turning the air itself into a riot of colors and fluttering scraps of paper. The music is so loud Kenma can barely hear his own thoughts. It’s like being inside a kaleidoscope. 

He stands in the center of the chaos, barely able to feel his legs as someone hands him a trophy. There’s a microphone in his face. How did it feel? What about that second round? Was he always confident he’d win the Masters Series or was there ever any doubt? What does he plan to do next?

Kenma answers, he thinks. It’s hard to tell with light and color and sound coming at him from every direction. Not to mention the pounding of his own heart. 

Eventually, the announcer lets him leave. He walks on numb legs toward the edge of the stage.

Kuroo is there waiting. 

He leans against a pole, arms crossed, grinning that cocky grin of his. He looks Kenma up and down as he approaches, but it’s Kuroo who’s impeccable and suave in his crisp, clean suit. Kenma can’t resist reaching for his skinny yellow tie and pulling Kuroo down to his mouth. 

“Very unprofessional, Boss,” Kuroo says against his lips. 

“Don’t care,” Kenma says. 

“You win one international gaming tournament and all of a sudden decorum goes right out the window.”

“Shut up.” 

Kenma keeps hold of that tie, towing Kuroo toward the dressing rooms. Once there, Kenma chucks the trophy onto a chair and kicks the door shut even as he slams Kuroo back against it. 

“Boss, don’t you think you’re being a little--”

“Stop.” 

Kuroo does, but his eyes glint like a cat eyeing a mouse. Kenma yanks on his tie, dragging Kuroo to his knees. He chokes up on the tie like a leash. Kuroo just goes on grinning, but Kenma is determined to wipe the smirk off his face. 

“No more talking,” Kenma says. 

“You got it. Boss.” 

Kenma considers choking up more on the tie, but to Kuroo’s credit he dives for Kenma’s pants then, rubbing over them even as he tugs at the zipper. Kenma grits his teeth to keep from gasping. Not yet. Not until Kuroo earns it. 

Kuroo apparently means to do just that. He wastes no time dispensing with pants and boxers, pulling Kenma free. He looks up, eyes like amber resin, liquid and warm. He doesn’t break that molten gaze even as he gets Kenma in his mouth, lips squeezing tight as he lowers down. 

Kenma’s teeth unclench on their own, the sigh crawling out from deep in his chest. All the tension of the match, all the anxiety of “performing” on a stage, having to be at his best in front of the whole world – it all melts away in the heat of Kuroo’s mouth bobbing on his cock. 

He grips the tie tighter, more to ease the intensity of the pleasure trembling through him than to punish Kuroo. Kuroo moans all the same, his voice reverberating up into Kenma’s gut, shaking loose the final dregs of the stress coiling in his belly. 

Kuroo’s mouth pops off his cock. Kenma looks down, startled by the sudden loss of warmth. 

All Kuroo says is “harder” before he’s enveloping Kenma’s cock again, dragging down it until Kenma’s sure it must be slamming into the back of his throat. 

Kenma bites out a rasping curse. He yanks on the tie. Maybe too hard, but he can’t control it just then because Kuroo is adding in his tongue, flicking at his dick like he’s searching for weaknesses. He finds every one. 

Kenma ruts his hips, helpless to stop himself. It’s desperate, the way he fucks into Kuroo’s waiting mouth, but Kuroo just keeps taking him deeper, moaning around him, grabbing at his hip to encourage him. 

And all the while he’s pulling on that tie. No longer a leash, now it’s a tether, an anchor among the storm trying to sweep Kenma off his feet. 

What that means for Kuroo, Kenma can’t say. Kuroo gasps, coming up briefly for air, but he plunges right back down, murmuring, almost _humming_. When Kenma sways into him, Kuroo tugs on his hip, drawing him deeper. Deeper. Always deeper. Kenma is starting to wonder just how deep Kuroo can go. Surely he has some sort of gag reflex. But it’s hard to tell and even harder to care as Kuroo sucks on Kenma. 

“Fuck,” Kenma gasps. “You’re so good at this.”

Kuroo just makes that strange humming noise again, like he’s singing about having dick down his throat.

“I’m gonna come in your mouth,” Kenma says. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to come inside you.”

The sound Kuroo makes is higher in pitch, a whine, like a dog begging. 

Kenma tugs on the leash before giving him what he’s pleading for. It’s taut now. Kenma’s hand is almost at the knot. He uses it to hold Kuroo as far down as he can go, pushing his cock as far into Kuroo’s mouth as it can reach just before the release hits. 

Kuroo goes rigid as Kenma spills down his throat. The hand at Kenma’s hip pulls, ensuring Kenma can’t step away until every last drop empties into Kuroo’s mouth. 

Only when he’s trembling and depleted does Kenma’s hand slacken, easing up on the tie, finally allowing Kuroo to slide away. He gasps for air, panting and whining in turn. He doesn’t get up, even when Kenma releases the tie and crumbles to his knees before Kuroo. Kenma cups Kuroo’s face in his hands, presses forward to kiss him even as he goes on breathing raggedly. 

When Kenma pulls away, he studies Kuroo.

“Was it too tight?” 

Kuroo scoffs. “No.”

“Do you need anything?”

The smirk returns. “Definitely not.”

Kenma glances down. “If you ruined this suit...”

“It, uh, might need some dry cleaning.”

“I hope you realize you’re the one who’s going to take it in,” Kenma says. 

Kuroo sighs, resignation and mischief bundled up in one breath. But then he just looks at Kenma with those amber eyes and crooked smile, leaning forward for a quiet kiss. “Worth it,” he says against Kenma’s lips. “So fucking worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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